The Making Of The Animals' "The House Of The Rising Sun"

Singer/songwriter Eric Burdon discusses the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame recording that may have inspired Dylan to go electric

Eric Burdon

GRAMMYs

Dec 2, 2014 - 4:06 pm

GRAMMY.com

(Since its inception in 1973, the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame has enshrined nearly 1,000 recordings across all genres. The Making Of … series presents firsthand accounts of the creative process behind some of the essential recordings of the 20th century. You can read more Making Of … accounts, and in-depth insight into the recordings and artists represented in the Hall, in the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame 40th Anniversary Collector's Edition book.)

"The House Of The Rising Sun"The AnimalsMGM (1964)SingleInducted 1999

(As told to Tammy La Gorce)

We started playing "[The] House Of The Rising Sun" [in 1964]. We were touring with Chuck Berry, and all of the other bands on the bill — I don't know why they're so strangely brainless in such a situation — all they did was try to outdo Chuck by doing the same kinds of songs he did, and we thought that was insanity. I went searching for something that would not be in Chuck Berry's field of vision.

I can't say exactly when the first time I heard "…Rising Sun" was because before we recorded it every folk artist I knew would play the opening chord sequence. They all loved that opening chord sequence, as does every guitar player in the world.

But I started thinking, "Wow, there's got to be more than this, than what I'm hearing from these opening chords." I got Bob Dylan's [1962 self-titled debut] album and I found out there was a lot more to it, that ["The House Of The Rising Sun"] had probably been rewritten. I thought, "Yeah, wow, yippee — there's more to the story than I think there is." Josh White had recorded it early on, and so had other blues luminaries.

Anyway, we were on a tour with Chuck Berry, and we were performing "…Rising Sun" live and we were finding out how much of an effect it was having on the audience. It was actually drawing people away from the magic of Chuck Berry, who we considered the master. If we were able to do that with the song, we knew it needed to be recorded right away.

So we had a day off on a Sunday, and we got on a train from Manchester with our equipment and arrived at [King's] Cross [Railway] Station, and we liberated a British Airways push wagon and loaded everything onto it and made our way through the early morning streets of London, which were devoid of people. The studio, De Lane Lea Studios, was two flights downstairs. We took all our stuff down there and while we were setting it up I met the engineer.

We were talking to him, and I thought, "This is going to be a monumental test of skills and wills," because to my surprise he had never recorded anything electric before.

So we offloaded and we set up and we did a soundcheck and one take, and that was it. The recording took about 15 minutes.

Years later I was at [bassist] Chas Chandler's house going through some drawers looking for some cigarette papers, and I came across some contracts. There was a contract there that said that the studio recording session for "[The] House Of The Rising Sun" cost 34 pounds. That would be about $70.

When we recorded it, [producer] Mickie Most was not in attendance. I'm pointing this out because everybody told us that recording "…Rising Sun" was wrong — it was too long, the wrong subject matter — and it wouldn't do well in the pop market. Well, a few weeks later it knocked the Beatles off the top of the chart, and the Beatles had been commandeering the charts for two years. We did it with that recording.

Back then, the folk world was the only world we knew because rock and roll was in the process of being discovered. Folk music ruled. "[The] House Of The Rising Sun" was known as a folk song and many folk artists recorded it. Bob Dylan was one of them. The thing that made this situation unique was [Dylan] was about to go into the studio and record it, and he heard that one of his compatriots in New York was about to record it as well. Bob Dylan got in touch with this guy and he said, "Oh, please don't record it."

Then we did it. We dropped the bomb on everybody. As far as I know it may be what inspired Bob to go electric. There's been a quote about that from Bob himself.

(Tammy La Gorce is a freelance writer whose work appears regularly in The New York Times.)

The making of the Moody Blues' 'Nights In White Satin'

Justin Hayward details the making of the Moody Blues' 1972 GRAMMY Hall Of Fame-inducted hit

Justin Hayward

GRAMMYs

May 15, 2017 - 2:36 am

GRAMMY.com

(Since its inception in 1973, the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame has enshrined nearly 1,000 recordings across all genres. The Making Of … series presents firsthand accounts of the creative process behind some of the essential recordings of the 20th century. You can read more Making Of … accounts, and in-depth insight into the recordings and artists represented in the Hall, in the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame 40th Anniversary Collector's Edition book.)

"Nights In White Satin"The Moody BluesDeram (1972)SingleInducted 1999

(As told to John Sutton-Smith)

I came to the band as a songwriter trying to find an outlet for my songs. They had only been together for a short time and cut "Go Now" and that was about it. The three guys that were left, after [bassist] Clint [Warwick] and [singer/guitarist] Denny [Laine] left, their heart wasn't into the rhythm & blues stuff. Mike [Pinder] was into doing new material and so was I, so we stopped wearing the blue suits and overnight it changed for us.

I got back from a gig about 4 in the morning, sat on the edge of the bed and just wrote down the basic thing. I was at the end of one love affair and at the beginning of another. And I do write letters never meaning to send, so there's quite a lot of truth to that song. When I played "Nights [In White Satin]" initially to the other guys, they were quite unimpressed until Mike did that phrase on the mellotron. I have to give him a lot of credit for that.

[Producer] Tony Clarke gave me a wonderful guitar sound and he knew how to record my voice, and with Mike he got that mellotron sound that is so sensational. The recording was a very happy relaxed time, because we didn't think we were under any pressure. It wasn't a huge career thing. We just wanted to get our stage act recorded, really, and here was this opportunity to make this stereo demonstration record for Decca. Hardly anyone had stereo, so it would only appeal to a few people, but it gave us a chance. Peter Knight the orchestral arranger had seen us and liked our material and said the best way to do it was to record the orchestral breaks between our songs.

I was the only one in the studio when they recorded the London Festival Orchestra. They only did it once. They did a rehearsal with Tony Clarke, and prepared the tape long enough with blank tape onto a 4-track, with Peter Knight, counting down. It's unbelievable how they did this. They'd already put the songs in the right order with the gaps in between, and then Peter would conduct the orchestra to his own voice counting. They rehearsed it once without [recording] it, no alternative take or anything, then took a break for a cup of tea, then they did a take and that was it; it was over.

We first heard ["Nights In White Satin"] in our transit van, going to a gig up north. They played it on the radio, and we pulled over. It was, like, spooky. There was something strange about it, that we hadn't really heard when we were playing it, but you got when you listened to it.

I had no idea that FM radio in America would pick it up and that "Nights…" would happen. I often wonder to this day what it is about the record that people like, because there's hardly anything on it. I mean we double-tracked the guitar, Mike did some double-tracking on his mellotron, and we were really only bouncing between two-track and four-track anyway. There's some fabulous Decca echoes on it, but there's really nothing else.

(John Sutton-Smith is a music journalist and TV producer who helped establish the GRAMMY Foundation's GRAMMY Living Histories oral history program, currently comprising almost 200 interviews.)

Keith Jarrett

Photo: Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Interview

The making of Keith Jarrett's 'The Köln Concert'pianist-keith-jarrett-story-k%C3%B6ln-concert

Pianist Keith Jarrett: The story of 'The Köln Concert'

GRAMMY-nominated pianist discusses overcoming adversity for the recording of his GRAMMY Hall Of Fame-inducted album in Germany

Keith Jarrett

GRAMMYs

May 15, 2017 - 2:36 am

GRAMMY.com

(Since its inception in 1973, the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame has enshrined nearly 1,000 recordings across all genres. The Making Of … series presents firsthand accounts of the creative process behind some of the essential recordings of the 20th century. You can read more Making Of … accounts, and in-depth insight into the recordings and artists represented in the Hall, in the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame 40th Anniversary Collector's Edition book.)

The Köln ConcertKeith JarrettECM (1975)AlbumInducted 2011

(As told to Don Heckman)

The story of how TheKöln Concert recording was made begins with ECM Records founder Manfred Eicher and I doing a driving tour of solo concerts in Europe. Some of them were recorded, some of them were not. But the Cologne concert [in Germany] was one that was definitely scheduled to be recorded. However, for a 24-hour period before we got to Cologne we had not slept at all. When we arrived at the hotel, I tried to take a nap. But it was impossible to do so.

The producer of the concert came to take us to the [Cologne Opera House] in his Rolls-Royce, a car that was so over the top that we could have eaten dinner in it, on the perfectly made wood panels. But we didn't really learn the problems we were facing until we arrived at the hall. I went onstage and realized, "Hey, I have a Bösendorfer [piano] here and it's not the right size and it sounds like a modified electric harpsichord." And then we found out that they couldn't get the right piano, even though it existed, because their rental truck was gone.

At that point, we probably said all kinds of curse words. And we started to tell the engineers, "Maybe you can just pack up." But then Manfred and I both sort of thought that was crazy. The recording equipment was already set up. So we decided to just make a tape of the performance, even it if was just for ourselves. So we went to dinner. It was already late, I was due to go onstage soon, we'd had so many hassles, and the piano was such a terrible instrument. And I hadn't slept anyway. So I was in almost hell. Then we went to this Italian restaurant where, for some perfectly symmetrical reason, we were served way last. Everyone else was eating, I was the one who was going to play in an hour, and I still didn't have any food. And then when they finally brought the food, I was still hungry, because I wasn't happy with the food they served.

All I remember after the restaurant fiasco is taking a peek at the engineers sitting, waiting with their equipment. They had everything ready. And I started thinking, "I'm going to do this." I remember putting my fist up in the air on the way out [from] backstage. I just looked at Manfred and [said], "Power!" or something.

Someone told me that, in the very beginning of that performance, what I was playing was imitating the bells in the lobby — the little phrase they play to tell the audience when it's time to go in to the theater. To my knowledge, I have no idea [if] that was true. But then something interesting happened. It just seemed like everybody in the audience was there for a tremendous experience, and that made my job easy. What happened with this piano was that I was forced to play in what was — at the time — a new way. Somehow I felt I had to bring out whatever qualities this instrument had.

And that was it. My sense was, "I have to do this. I'm doing it. I don't care what the f*** the piano sounds like. I'm doing it." And I did.

(Don Heckman has been writing about jazz and other music for five decades in The New York Times,Los Angeles Times, Jazz Times, Down Beat, Metronome, High Fidelity, and his personal blog, the International Review of Music.)

Judy Collins on recording Joni Mitchell's 'Both Sides Now'

Judy Collins details meeting Joni Mitchell and the making of her 1968 GRAMMY Hall Of Fame-inducted hit

Judy Collins

GRAMMYs

May 15, 2017 - 2:36 am

GRAMMY.com

(Since its inception in 1973, the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame has enshrined nearly 1,000 recordings across all genres. The Making Of … series presents firsthand accounts of the creative process behind some of the essential recordings of the 20th century. You can read more Making Of … accounts, and in-depth insight into the recordings and artists represented in the Hall, in the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame 40th Anniversary Collector's Edition book.)

"Both Sides Now"Elektra (1968)SingleInducted 2003

(As told to Roy Trakin)

I was sound asleep in my uptown New York apartment in 1967 when my old friend Al Kooper called on the phone. "I've just met this girl here in the bar. … She and I were talking and she told me she wrote songs. She's good-looking and I figured I could follow her home, which couldn't be a bad thing no matter how you look at it."

He put her [on the phone] and Joni Mitchell proceeded to sing me "Both Sides Now." It turned out she could write songs. I told him, "I'll be right over." I recorded the song and it became a big hit, though not immediately. People loved it on the album, but it took a few remixes by David Anderle before it was appropriate to go on radio, [where] it did quite wonderfully.

We recorded the song as part of the Wildflowers album in New York, with Mark Abramson producing and Josh Rifkin [conducting]. That album has virtually no guitars on it, except for "Both Sides Now." Josh had the smart, wonderful and amazing idea to put a harpsichord on the arrangement, which I think took it a long way. It's a great song, timeless and singable, even today, and did a great deal for my career, because people started answering my phone calls. It also led to a lot of success for Joni, who was given the respect she deserved as a songwriter, and was able to record it herself.

Hearing that song and deciding to cover it turned out to be an organic, holistic experience that happens immediately and without explanation. Some people are bound to sing certain songs. It was instantly obvious to me that "Both Sides Now" was my song. There's no science or way to predict it. I probably learned that from my father, who was in the radio business. He sang Rodgers and Hart and always chose the best songs from their shows, the ones that became hits. My mother said I came by this talent honestly because I inherited it from him. I know exactly what song will last and was meant for me to sing — "Both Sides Now" was one of those. It's all about gut instinct, which comes with training, time, experience, and knowing what you love to sing and what you hate. That's a lifetime education. And the song doesn't necessarily depend on the writer. It takes on a life of its own. The song knows where it's meant to go, and it knows what to do when it gets there.

That same year [1967], I was on the board of the Newport Jazz Festival and pushed to have a singer/songwriter workshop with Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Janis Ian, and Tom Paxton. And I believe that helped kick off the careers of both Joni and Leonard, along with my covers of their songs. It was a really important event for the festival, because the traditional types were so against bringing in these younger performers who wrote their own material.

(Roy Trakin, a senior editor for HITS magazine, has written for every rock publication that ever mattered, some that didn't, and got paid by most of them.)

Making of: Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's "Mr. Bojangles"

(Since its inception in 1973, the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame has enshrined nearly 1,000 recordings across all genres. The Making Of … series presents firsthand accounts of the creative process behind some of the essential recordings of the 20th century. You can read more Making Of … accounts, and in-depth insight into the recordings and artists represented in the Hall, in the GRAMMY Hall Of Fame 40th Anniversary Collector's Edition book.)

We were rehearsing for Uncle Charlie & His Dog Teddy in this giant [Seeburg] Jukebox warehouse in Long Beach, Calif., where [bassist] Les Thompson's dad was a distributor. Driving home one night, I heard the tail end of this song on the radio. There was no back-announcing on FM, so we had no idea who or what it was. I pulled the car over to listen, and my eyes just welled up. The song really moved me.

The next day, I announced I'd heard this beautiful tune we ought to record. [Guitarist] Jimmy Ibbotson jumped up and blurted, "I think I know what song you're talking about," ran to the parking lot, popped the trunk on his Dodge Dart, and under the spare tire — I'm not sure it was even in a sleeve — was the 45 of "Mr. Bojangles." When he left New Castle, Ind., for California, he was given the single by this hippie — whom he described as a witch — telling him, mysteriously, "You should have this."

We excitedly ran into the jukebox factory, found a playable turntable, put some pennies on the disc — there was no amplification, so we had to listen on these tinny speakers — and pulled the lyrics as best we could. We actually screwed up a couple of the words on the final record.

We recorded at World Pacific Studios on West 3rd St. in L.A., where a lot of amazing jazz and R&B records were made. I sang lead on "[Mr.] Bojangles," with Jimmy doing harmonies. We actually switched up on the last verse, where I went up to the high harmony. We wanted to use accordion and mandolin together because the emotional impact was so beautiful. John [McEuen] came up with the gorgeous mandolin part, while Jimmy and I did the cross-picking on guitars. We were big fans of the Band's "Rockin' Chair," [on which] Robbie [Robertson] played this tremolo Archtop.

I remember performing the song live before the album release, and seeing some of the waitresses get all moony. And I thought, "Wow, this must be good." We'd already released one single, "Some Of Shelly's Blues," which we used to sing with Linda Ronstadt, but it peaked at No. 64, so we were pretty disappointed. Then, one day, we got a call from Liberty Records that an FM station in Shreveport, La., was wearing out "Mr. Bojangles," and the phones were lighting up. This was all for a five-minute waltz about an old guy and his dog. But people just loved and responded to the song. It was the emotional high point of our set.

[Producer] Bill McEuen was a fan of this Lightnin' Hopkins' record with Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee and Big Joe Williams called "Down South Summit Meetin','' which had all these spoken word interludes. McEuen had previously recorded several conversations with his wife Alice's great Uncle Charlie on their front porch, which he edited and placed as the intro to "[Mr.] Bojangles." Taking these two raw pieces of art and combining them turned out to be genius. We're very proud of that record.

My personal favorite is Jerry Jeff Walker's original. He always liked Nina Simone's cover. After it became a hit, Sammy Davis Jr. would give us a shout-out when he performed it.

(Roy Trakin, a senior editor for HITS magazine, has written for every rock publication that ever mattered, some that didn't, and got paid by most of them.)

Some of the content on this site expresses viewpoints and opinions that are not those of the Recording Academy. Responsibility for the accuracy of information provided in stories not written by or specifically prepared for the Academy lies with the story's original source or writer. Content on this site does not reflect an endorsement or recommendation of any artist or music by the Recording Academy.